Retrospect
by Defiant-Dreams
Summary: They live, they love, they lose, they learn. But still, he is Michael, he is Dean. They are one. A Michael!Dean fic, with Michael's story going forwards, and Dean's going backwards.


"Yes." Dean forced out, his voice choked. Zachariah smiles, satisfaction and triumph lighting his eyes. Dean's heart flutters, his eyes squeezing shut. Sam exhales painfully, and Dean… Dean regretted. But still he waited. Waited for _him_ to come.

Dean imagined light, and warmth to fill him from the inside, taking over, until Dean was just a name, not a person, not anymore. Because Dean didn't matter, he was just a vessel, an empty space that would make way for the light.

But the light did not come.

* * *

Lucifer had fallen. Cast away by their Father. The two were never to lay eyes on each other, until The Day comes and Armageddon takes hold on Earth, lovely Earth. His Father's Earth, with all the pretty humans in it. The pretty humans with their flawed souls and their disgusting sins. His Father's Favored.

Until then, Michael will wait. He will wait for the soul that would change everything, the soul that would be _his_ and his alone.

His Father had promised him the Righteous Man, and who was Michael to deny himself what he was made for?

* * *

Heaven. Heaven was odd.

He was dead, and it was Fourth of July all over again. All his memories were of family, of times where it was easier, and Dean was happy. He was happier now than he'd ever been alive. It was freaky.

And Sam? Sam's memories were when he was away. Not with Dean, not with Dad, but of a family he didn't have, a place Dean's never been.

Who did God think he was? Disappearing like that? Leaving Castiel, leaving Earth, leaving hi—Dean never understood religion.

* * *

Heaven continued. But things were different. Michael was not just an Archangel, not anymore.

Michael was The Prince of the Heavenly Hosts. He was The One Who Had Cast Away Satan. Satan… That's what they called him now. Not Lucifer, bearer of light, not Lucifer, Morning Star, but _Satan. _The Adversary. The Devil.

The two of them had gained titles after The War was fought and won by Heaven. They were different in the eyes of the other angels. They had made a name for themselves.

Michael should be proud of his, because he had fought for his Father. He should scorn Luci—_Satan's_ name, because he betrayed them all.

But Michael did not.

He didn't trust Lucifer. Not since he rebelled. But Michael still loved.

Michael was not happy. And he did not speak of his brother.

* * *

Dean did not speak of his brother. Sam—Sam was gone. And Dean… Dean pretended.

He pretended that everything was okay. He pretended that he didn't miss Sam. He pretended that he didn't change his mind.

Dean didn't trust Sam. Not since the Devil's Gate was opened. But Dean still loved.

Dean loved Sam. It had always been like that. Sam was his baby brother.

But…

* * *

Gabriel.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

Gabriel was gone. Gabriel had ran away from the Host. Michael knew that if Gabriel didn't want to be found, Michael would never find him.

And Gabriel didn't want to be found.

Michael should have noticed. Michael should have i_realized/i_ that something was wrong, that his brother was hurting. But Michael didn't. Michael had abandoned his brother in his time of need, because he was too busy with the concerns of the Host.

Michael had failed his brother.

* * *

Dean had failed his brother.

Sam had done the unspeakable.

Dean had suspected it for a while now. The late night trysts, the _lies._

But Dean didn't think much of it.

Sam… Sam had been drinking demon blood. _Feeding _of Ruby. Ruby, with her pretty little lies, and her soulless black eyes. Ruby, the fucking _demon._

If Dean had found a way out of his deal, Sam wouldn't be in this place. Sam wouldn't have resorted to revenge, and power, and _bloodlust._ Dean would have been there to keep him human, to keep his Sammy safe.

But Dean wasn't. Dean was in Hell. Dean didn't try hard enough.

It was his fault.

* * *

It was his fault.

It was his fault the host was _crumbling_ to its foundation. It was his fault that the angels were unhappy.

Humanity was falling. Wars, famine, pestilence. The horsemen did not ride out from Perdition, but Earth was still failing without them.

Earth was not what his Father had envisioned. _Heaven_ was not what his Father had envisioned.

It had become a prison for the angels.

It had become a prison for Michael.

* * *

Dean could feel it. He could feel the demon inside of him aching to get out. But still he sneered. He laughed. He _killed._

They were dead already. Dean knew that. That's why they were in Hell. That's why Dean was hurting them. That's why Dean sliced them, diced them, made them bleed, made them beg and scream and cry until blood dyed his hands red.

_Blood, blood, blood._

The part of him that was still achingly human, the part that screamed denial fought. This was wrong.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

But Dean pushed it down. Dean let the demon inside of him rise, and laugh, and _kill._

Oh, did it _l__ove_ to kill. It loved slamming its hands into the souls' stomachs and tearing out their intestines. It loved laughing as their screams rose higher and higher in pitch, sobs tearing out of their mouths as they begged for mercy and Go—_Him._

It was only a matter of time before green shifted into black, and the human in him was gone.

And Dean waited.

He waited for the day that the souls he had put on the rack screamed yes._ He waited for someone to save him._ He waited for the day that his soul turned into the very thing he used to hunt, to become black with corruption. _He waited for Sam._

When the light came, Dean stared. He may have waited, but he didn't think it would actually happen. He may have hoped, but he knew it was hopeless.

He closed his eyes, and let the light grip him.

He was free.

* * *

He was free.

It was odd, this freedom. Michael regarded the humans with a lazy eye. These were his Father's Favored. His lip curled in disgust. They did not deserve it. But Michael would still serve them, bow to them, and _love them_. He was an obedient son, and he would do what his Father would want him to do.

But still.

They were all the same. Bitter, angry, greedy, _selfish_. Even the children, once so pure, and so full of his Father's light and innocence were dimmed.

But not his Righteous Man. Never his Righteous Man. So Michael would wait. He'd wait until what was his came. He waited until he could finally fix everything.

He waited until he could see Lucifer again.

* * *

He waited until he could see Sam again.

The demon's lips tasted of ashes, and a promise that made Dean's heart beat painfully. But it would all be worth nothing if Sam was still...

Dean just had to see Sam and he'd be okay. He'd be _okay._

When he saw Sammy, Dean shuddered. His knees shook and if Dean didn't have his pride, Dean would have fallen in front of his brother and cried in relief.

His brother was alive. The deal had been made. Dean would die in one year. Sam was alive.

Dean had a year before the Hellhounds came and killed him.

_He didn't care._

Sam was here. Sam was alive. God, Sam was safe.

_Sam was here._

His deal, his imminent death—it _didn't_ matter.

He had Sam.

* * *

Michael roamed the Earth. He was waiting, of course. He was waiting until his Righteous Man would be born, so he could watch over him. Be his guardian angel. Michael was determined to keep his soul pure and untainted of the sins of humanity.

And he watched.

Michael watched. He watched for the signs of Armageddon. Of course, they weren't there. They wouldn't be until his Righteous Man was born and his brother too. The brother who would inevitably be _his_ brother's vessel.

Michael would watch over him too, he supposed. Keep him alive for his brother's benefit.

* * *

Sam. Sam. Sam.

Sammy was dead.

Dean had failed. He was a failure. That one thing Dad had told him to do before he died? He couldn't do it. He couldn't protect Sam.

He had no one. Everyone was gone. His grandparents were dead. His parents were dead. His brother was dead.

God. Dean should just be fucking dead too.

Dean cradled his head on his hands, staring at Sam's lifeless, pale body on the bed.

"Sammy." He whispered.

Dean was so alone.

* * *

Michael was so alone.

He didn't know waiting could be this lonely.

He missed the Host. He missed Gabriel. He missed Lucifer. He missed Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Remiel, Saraqael—He missed the cherubim with their easy laughter and pretty smiles, the seraphim with their beautiful wings and insistent protection and the cupids with their love and their sleek arrows.

He missed the ease of Heaven, the constant love of the angels, and the singing. He missed the never-ending song of praise and adoration for anything and everything that their Father had ever done and made.

He missed how Heaven was before. How uncomplicated it was. How he always had his brothers—or sisters with him, loving him, and how he loved them just as much.

But that was before.

Before Lucifer left. Before The Fall. Before Michael cast down his brother.

* * *

"Easy, tiger." Dean grinned, looking down at his brother.

Sammy. Sammy. Sammy. His brother.

Sam stared at him in shock. He looked… older. Different. Huh.

But Sammy was _here _and that's all that mattered.

_"Dean?"_

* * *

_"Michael."_

Michael stared at his brother, righteous anger burning in his vessel's blood. Michael's eyes flashed, his grace rising with his wings aggressively. But still, his face was still and devoid of emotion.

"I didn't know." Uriel said, his eyes wide. His wings dropped in shame, and Michael was sorry that he made his brother feel that way. He loved Uriel, he did. But he had harmed his Righteous Man. Uriel would learn his lesson in Heaven. Heaven, which Michael had not seen for so long. Uriel should go back, because that's where he belonged.

"Goodbye, Uriel." Michael snaps his fingers, and Uriel disappears back into Heaven, his grace melding easily with the Host. Michael can feel them welcoming him back, joy and confusion flitting easily. Michael smiles wryly.

Michael talks to Mary, but he's distracted. His Righteous Man is right there and so near. Why hasn't he said yes yet?

"Well, I'd say this conversation is long overdue, wouldn't you?"

He stares at Dean, his eyes narrowing slightly. He isn't going to persuade Dean to say yes. Not yet. Not at this time.

And then Michael realizes.

Something is off with Dean.

They talk, but Michael can't help but examine the boy. Yes, something is wrong. Something is _very _wrong.

His breath hitches slightly, and he's angry again. His wings rise, but of course Dean doesn't see it. How? How could it be? This was not supposed to happen. This was not his Father's will. But still, he continues talking.

"You know, unlike my brothers, I won't leave you a drooling mess when I'm done wearing you." He says carefully.

Oh yes. He wouldn't. Not because he didn't want to. It was true; he didn't want to leave his Righteous Man like that, but even if did want that, he wouldn't.

Because he couldn't.

* * *

It took Dean a while before he figured it out. Before he realized that all his calls to Dad were going unanswered.

Was it about that weird message he left? Dean figured that he'd taken care of that.

He swallowed.

What if…

_Oh fuck._

His father was missing.

* * *

His Father was missing.

That much was obvious. Michael looked up at the sky and sighed. His Father had been missing for a while now.

8 more months. 8 more months before… Before his Righteous Man should have been born.

He snarls, grace flashing momentarily. He reels it in quickly. It would be no good if the others

His Righteous Man. His _perfect_ Righteous Man. Things were not going according to his Father's plan. He wondered if the others had noticed. His Righteous Man was not what they expected him to be.

But it was okay.

Michael was going to fix this.

* * *

Dean was going to fix this.

So what if Sam had left them? So what if Sam had chosen College, and Stanford and a fucking law degree? So what if Sam didn't care anymore?

Dean grit his teeth and looked down at his hands. Damn it.

_So what?_

* * *

Michael watched Mary and John. He tilted his head as he regarded them curiously. They loved each other, they really did. But there was still that one day they had never talked about. That day that neither of them remembered, yet didn't chose to discuss. It was there, niggling on their subconscious, but they ignored it. Michael didn't get it. Weren't you supposed to tell the one you loved everything?

He smiled softly. He didn't need to get it, he supposed. Humans.

5 more months. Until then, Michael would wait.

He had waited his whole time for the Righteous Man. Michael never actually realized until now that it was never meant to be.

5 more months until Michael would complete his Father's wish. He got it now, he really did. Their Father had a mischievous side it seemed.

Michael was tired of waiting.

* * *

Dean was tired of waiting.

He pretended, oh boy, did he pretend. He pretended that he agreed with Dad about keeping Sam in the dark. He pretended that he didn't care that his Dad was always gone, always _away. _He pretended that the fact that he was practically raising Sam by himself didn't bother him, and that it never occurred to him that other families didn't work that way.

So he left the journal where Sam could find it. Sammy deserved to know their Dad's secrets, because their Dad was a _hero_.

It didn't work out quite the way he wanted it to.

* * *

3 months. Michael had three months left. He made a low sound in his throat, as he pressed his hand to Mary's stomach. She was sleeping, her features soft as she buried her head into John's neck.

Michael closed his eyes, feeling his vessel kick underneath his hand. And that's all the boy is. A vessel. Nothing more, nothing less. Because the soul, the _beautiful_ flawless soul that was everything that Michael's been waiting for, and wanting is gone. His wonderful, _perfect_ Righteous Man had no soul.

Hell had intervened; they had _destroyed_ and _touched _his Righteous Man without permission. It was not their time, yet they had set their own plans in motion.

Well.

Heaven was going to intervene too.

* * *

"Daddy!" Dean is afraid. So afraid. What's happening? Where was his Mommy? Smoke. Fire. _Fear._What was happening?_ Dean doesn't know._

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"

Dean freezes, staring at his Daddy. He turns and runs, Sammy clutched in his arms. He's so afraid. Where was his Mommy?

"It's okay, Sammy." He whispers, as he runs down the stairs, his arms clenched around his baby brother's fragile body. "I'll keep you safe."

He looks down for a moment, and Sammy makes a subdued cry, his little eyes wide. Dean's eyes water too, the smoke hurting his eyes.

Dean whimpers. He has to be strong for Sammy. He runs. He runs until they're outside. They're _safe_. But what about their Mommy and Daddy?

Where were Mommy and Daddy?

"It's okay, Sammy." He repeats softly, staring up at the window lit with red flames. Sammy clutches at him, and Dean's eyes water.

It's okay.

* * *

It was time.

Michael could feel it. He could feel his Grace withdrawing from him, painful and slow. He shuddered as his wings crumbled into themselves and he cried out. His wings. His beautiful wings that his Father made from light, love and something that was uniquely _His. _They were falling apart, joining his Grace as it forms into a separate entity.

He was scared.

He could feel panic rising up in a bubble inside his chest as his Grace pulls away, tearing itself from him and taking away the Host, his wings and everything that makes an Archangel an Archangel. Michael didn't care about the powers that came with being an angel. No. The warmth of the Host's love and praise was what he was leaving behind.

His eyes slip shut, and a soft sound escapes him. The part of him that is not an angel, but something more, yet something less at the same time reaches out to the boy in the womb who was supposed to be the Righteous Man.

His Father… His Father knows what's happening. Above all, above the sacrifice Michael is making, above the pain he is feeling, he just wants his Father to be proud of him.

_"Daddy."_

* * *

Mary looks down at the baby boy in her arms and smiles softly in wonder. He was _perfect._ He was everything they've ever wanted.

"Dean." She whispers, stroking his face reverently. A man joins her. She looks up, and smiles. This was _their_ baby boy. Their _beautiful_ baby boy.

Mary would do right by him. She wouldn't let him join the hunt. He was her baby. She wouldn't let him get hurt. She _couldn't_. There was too much at stake.

John smiles at her, and then looks down at his son in awe. There's a look in his eyes as if he can't believe this is happening. As if he can't believe that they've actually been blessed with this boy.

"Angels are watching over you." She whispers in their baby's ear. Dean makes a soft noise and struggles slightly.

She smiles.

_Finis_


End file.
